Daddy Come Home
by weapon13WhiteFang
Summary: When an email from a man asking Chance and his people to protect a young girl from her abstant father's business appears in their inbox, are they really prepared for the job and all that comes with it?
1. Alone

Alone.

I've been there. I've been alone. I feel that I'm always alone.

This filthy city did this. New York is such a jungle. It's a dog eat dog world, and unfortunately for me, I'm a little dog that's had my growth impeded by the jungle of concrete, metal, and pollution. It's drained me. Left me bitter, alone, and with deep mental scars that I no longer try to hide.

I'm young. Still in the spring of my youth, but not to far from summer, at sixteen. I'm probably to young to be alone, you might think. Well I'm not alone... Not in the physical sense, at least. I have my mom.

My mother, Angie Sanders, works for an escort agency near our home called Mel's Corner. High class dumb full of big underground names, pervs, and drunks. Mom's pretty popular with this tiara act she does. When I was younger, I can remember riding home from the bar with her sometimes, and she would have some random guy with her. She'd get me inside, tuck me, and tell me she loved me after humming me to sleep. Then she'd leave to fuck in the bedroom while I was sleeping or half-way asleep.

But she's not a bad mom. She does what she does because its what she's good at and what puts food on the table, even if dad sends her a huge amount of cash once a year. Mom puts a lot of it aside for me and college. The other was still used for me on Christmas, my birthday, other holidays, and clothes. It was all for me. She raised me, cleaned me, feed me, the works. She's a good mom.

She's a truthful mom. She taught me about sex when I was seven, because I'd asked what it was. I look back at it now and laugh. My mom has no boundaries with what she teaches me or what I ask her. She just tells without blinking an eye. She also has a fun sense of humor. She's laid back and just goes with the flow of life. The good and the bad.

Although many people call her a whore and criticize her for not giving me up, saying I didn't need to be exposed to her filthy work, I still stand up for her. Just as she would stand up for me if she had to when it comes to the occasional, perverted, asshole clients she would get. I now know how to break a man's hand from her... Which she told me once, that she learned from watching my father do it.

My father. What can I say about a man who I can only remember meeting once in my life. And the memories are not even that clear. Just random and kind of fuzzy. One being of me sitting on the floor. I'm about three, and someone knocks on the door. Mom answers, and Its him.

His face is fuzzy, but I remember a slight smile. I remember him playing with me on the floor and a song as he's rocking me deep into sleep. The images of that day are fuzzy but his voice is a bit more clear.

I was an accident. Mom never told me, but I knew I was. Dad and her hadn't been careful, and the end result was me. Mom never hated me, though. She loved the life she and hum had created and cherished me. My father she's a bit upset with. She says he was a kind, funny, laid back, and sarcastic man when she meet him. And one hell of a lover in bed. But with how I am now, how she tells me I'm just a bit like him, she wishes he could have played a bigger part in my life. Wishes that I knew him. Knew more than a fuzzy memory.

But I don't mind. My life is how it is and I neither hate it or despise it.

"Robin! Robin Sanders, come inside, dammit! It's getting dark and the news says it's gonna rain and I don't want you sick!" I smile as I look up from my spot on the the cracked sidewalk three houses from ours. I see my mother waving me over to come back in the house. Her long, strawberry blonde, hair waves in the wind, as her sea foam green eyes seem to sparkle from afar.

Pushing myself up, I call back to her, "Alright, mama! I'm coming." With that I walk at my own, slow, pace. Alone. No I'm not alone physically. I have my mom to be content with. No... I'm alone... Because no one who really gets me. I'm a loner. A thinker. I'm... Different.

So... I'm alone.

**I own nothing. **_**Human Target **_**belongs to its respectful owners. Robin and Angie belong to me.**

Please R & R if you like.


	2. Broken Heart

Angie smelled like strong perfume as Robin walked past her.

"I was screaming for you for an hour, Robin. Didn't you hear me?" Robin pulled her jacket off, as she walked into the living room, kicking her boots to the side by her bedroom door. "Robin? Robin!" She jumped, her head snapping to her mother as her pale greenish-brown eyes blinked slowly. Angie sighed and rolled her eyes at her daughter, shaking her head.

"Sorry mom. Got a lot on my mind," Robin explained, as her mother walked to the hallway closet by her room, and grabbed a fuzzy black coat. It was then that Robin noticed her mother was all dressed up. Her lightly wavy, strawberry blonde hair was up and curled, her make-up was light but noticeable, and she was wearing a tight, black, satin dress that hung off the shoulder and had a slit up the left side that went straight up to her hip.

Robin watched her mother walk back into the living room. black high heels clicking, and sighed. She had work tonight. Great. That meant Robin would have to be home alone tonight. Some nights she would go with her mother. But most of the time Angie wanted her to stay home. This would leave her with only her neighbors. There was miss Shultz, an older African American woman with three cats and smelled of cigarettes and cat litter, or Mr. and Mrs. Williams, a newly married couple that fought a lot and had a pitbull named Skip who liked to snarl and snap at anyone who tried to approach the chain link fence to their doorstep. They would be her only company if she were to get bored enough.

"Robin... Honey, I gotta go," Robin, losing her train of thought, gave her mom a nod as she was pulled into a hug? Robin blinked in surprise. Her mother never hugged her goodbye. It was always a pat on the cheek or a kiss on the forehead before she was out the door. Hugs, to Angie, where a sign of friends saying goodbye. Her mother hated goodbyes.

Angie released Robin from the embrace, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, before making her way towards the door. "Oh! I almost forgot!" Her mother opened the door halfway and turned to Robin with a slightly lopsided smile. Uh-Oh. To Robin that meant she was unsure and upset about something, and that meant Robin would have to deal with it.

"There are some...Old friends stopping by who want to see you." Robin raised a brow, as her mother twiddled her fingers and the strap of her leather purse. She sighed. "Yeah! They know your father, and they want to meet you..." Her voice trailed, and Robin felt a twitch travel through her body. Her father.

"I don't wanna meet them," her voice was low, dry, and full of anger. "I don't wanna meet some friends of..._dad_..." Her voice caught at the name dad as she stuffed her hands into her pocket and looked away from her mother.

Robin heard Angie sigh, and the clicking of her heels, before she felt fingers under her chin, turning her face softly. Robin glared down, as her mother shook her head. "I know it was hard for you, Robin," she pushed her chin up, and Robin allowed her glaring eyes to make contact with her mothers. "I know it was hard growing up without a father. With me in my line of work, you've taken a lot of crap."

She had. Robin had been in a lot of fights for what her mother did. Principles had her mother on speed-dial. She'd been pulled in and out of school so much, everyone was amazed she was still passing all her classes with mostly A's and B's and only one C. And that had been for a stupid Communications class.

She wasn't a big people person, so it was understandable that she not overly excel at a class on working and talking to people. She only got the B because the Quiz questions were common sense bull-crap.

When she was thirteen, she'd been opted for home-schooling and she just did her classes online now. She liked it this way. No people to bug her. No more fighting in hallways. No more stupid teachers and principles who only want to "help her". Whatever. They just wanted to control her. Fat chance of that happening. Authority figures, save for her mother and a few chosen adults, could suck it.

"It's fine, mom," Robin grumbled, shifting her eyes away. "I don't mind." Angie smiled softly, and pat her daughter lightly on the cheek. "I know you don't, sweetie. And you got that from your father." Robin huffed, and her mother laughed. "Don't hate him forever, Robin," Angie ruffled her hair, before making her way to the door. "He's a good man. He couldn't stay with us. But he did love you."

Robin nodded with a sort of "yeah-right" look, slouching her shoulders as her mother ruffled her hair, before walking out the door with a soft click. Robin stood in the middle of the living-room for what seemed like hours, before walking to sit on the couch, reaching for the remote on the coffee table, and sunk back into the old couch and turned on the TV.

She stared forward blankly as _The Big Bang Theory _played. Why was... Her _fathers_... Friends coming, out of the blue, to see her? Why had her mother seemed so... Different tonight? And why did she almost feel like something wasn't right. Robin huffed and ran her hands through her wavy brown, past shoulder blades length, hair. She hated when she didn't know something. Hated unanswered questions. It was one of the reasons she was mad at _him_.

He had left so many unanswered questions for her to ponder as she grew up, and only he could give them... And he hadn't been here. Her mother could never tell her why he never called to wish her a Happy Birthday, why he missed so many Christmas's, or why he came to see her when all he was going to do was remain a gap in her history of existence. Why not just never come to see her? Why couldn't he just look away so she could call him an uncaring prick and just hate him?

Robin clinched her fist and shut off the TV before roughly throwing the remote onto the coffee table as she stood up and walked to her bedroom. She needed to do something. She was getting to the depressing, angry, side of herself, and she really didn't feel like wallowing in anger for the rest of the night.

Pushing open her door, she instantly walked to the closet and stripped. She grabbed a pair of baggy, ripped up, dark blue jeans, a simple white wife-beater, a size to big short sleeved button down plaid shirt with the buttons open, and some socks, before changing into them. Once in new clothes, she threw her dirty laundry into her hamper and threw herself on her bed, pushing on her iHome, allowing her music to play as she stared out the window of her room while lying on her stomach, watching the alleyway below her window, and the drug deal going down. She'd watched a guy get shot there once.

._..And I wear all your old clothes, your polo sweater  
__I dream of another you  
__The one who would never (never)  
__Leave me alone to pick up the pieces  
__A daddy to hold me, that's what I needed_

Robin hissed and quickly turned to hit the next button, switching songs. Why did she even have such a sappy, sad, song on her iPod anyway? She glared as "Break Myself" by Something Corporate, began to play. Glaring and letting out a grunt, she looked back out the window, her expression becoming blank and distant.

As she stared out the window, she allowed herself to slip in and out of sleep, letting her iPod touch shuffle through song after song until it was around six now. She slipped out of sleep to glance at her clock, her iPod playing Queen, before she was about to allow herself to drift back into sleep as she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes.

_Knock, knock, knock!_

Robin's eyes snapped open, and she groaned, pushing herself up on her bed and stretching. She growled as she heard another set of three knocks on her door. _Chill_, whoever! Sighing, Robinpushed up from her bed, and slipped on her boots, hoping to the door as she pulled the last one on.

She didn't like being barefoot when people came to the door in-case she ever needed to run. Grabbing a gun from a drawer near the door like she had been taught since she was a kid, she tucked it in her back pocket and walked to the door.

When you live in New York, in this backwash neighborhood, her mother once said, it's good to always be prepared for some psycho, stranger, or government freaks, attacking you at your house. Hence why a gun, a small pistol, was always used when answering the door, even if it was her mother or someone else she knew.

Peeking out the peek-hole, she frowned when she saw that whoever was on the other side, had covered the hole with their hand. She reached her right hand behind her and gripped the gun at ready, as she unlocked the door, unlocked the deadbolt, and cracked open the door.

"Hey dude."

**R&R Plz**


	3. Come a Knockin

Robin had meet a lot of weird adults in her life.

In her sixteen years, as far back as she could remember clearly, many male faces have been etched into her skull because of her mothers work and going to Mels all the time. Some with faces so plane she didn't even bother to remember their owners names. And some so covered in tattoo's, she wasn't sure if their face wasn't inked to a blank skull.

But the face's staring back at her as she propped the door open just a little more... Well they were making her feel uncomfortable in a strange way. They were two males. The first one to catch her eyes, was a tall, most likely between 6' 4" and 6' 5", African American with a shiny, balding, skull and wearing a nice suit and tie. He looked uncomfortable and irritated as he gave her a weak, though slightly friendly, smile.

His companion, however, was an even stranger one. He was short, although still slightly taller than herself at 5' 3", so she was guessing between 5' 5" and 5' 6" in height. His hair was brown, shoulder length, wild, and wavy. His ice-blue, piercing, eyes behind a pair of thin black rimmed, circular, specks were a bit unnerving as she took in his long sleeved, brown, shirt under a darker blue button up shirt and tight, but still almost baggy looking, jeans and boots. His stance was casual and relaxed as he glanced quickly at her, before looking away to scan behind them.

"Can I help you?" Robin finally found her voice, as she kept her right hand on the small pistol behind her back and behind the door only partially blocking her from them if they choose to attack. Although she really didn't think she had it in her to shoot anyone, if she wanted to live, she knew she'd have to. Her mother had told her that.

The tall, black, male cleared his throat. "Are you Robin Sanders?" She blinked at him a few times, saying nothing and tilting her head slightly as she lightly pushed the door away from her body, ready to close it. The male cleared his throat and asked again, "are you Robin Sanders? We're here to see you... Your mother, Angie, told you about us before she left, right?"

She stopped pushing the door closed and fixed them with a frown. "Yes..." The male cleared his throat, fixing her with a contemplated look that reminded her of something oh so familiar, but she really couldn't place what. "Yeah, well... My name is Winston and I'm here on behalf of your father."

Robin narrowed her eyes. "Go away. I don't want anything to do with him," she began to close the door. "Just go away and leave me alone" The door was almost completely closed before she was stopped by a booted foot being propped between the door.

Robin pushed against the foot in irritation, only to growl as the door was roughly pushed open and she stumbled back, gun ready and pointed as she sloppily try to look like she knew how to handle herself. Her muscles quivered as she growled. "Get the hell outta my house before I-"

"Relax, kid." Robin blinked, gasping as the shorter male gave her a dry, slanted, smile and easily plucked the gun from her grasp. Robin scrambled back, putting some distance between herself and the two home invaders, glaring. "Get the hell out of my house! I told mom I don't want anything to do with him, and now I'm telling you two."

The taller male who had introduced himself as Winston, held up his hands. "Miss Sanders, we aren't here to upset you," he shifted and stepped towards her, his large frame dwarfing her. "We're just doing our job that was asked of us. Now please calm down and lets try to act like a young woman." Robin scoffed at the tall male, a look of disbelief on her face.

"Around this neighborhood," she mumbled, "the young woman are prostitutes, dude." He blinked and his mouth went a gap as Robin shook her head, her eyes remaining on the two males. The taller one, Winston, was looking at her with discomforts. Her little comment seeming to have made him speechless, as he shifted and seemed unsure of whether to stand or sit. Now his companion, the short one, seemed right at home, as he looked around the apartment, his eyes scanning every inch, his hands stuffed in his pockets and mouth set in a relaxed line.

Robin couldn't help but stare at the shorter male. He seemed slightly familiar. Her mother had said these were her fathers friends, and as far as she knew, she'd never meet any of her fathers acquaintances or family. Had she meet this man?

"Why exactly are you men here?" The two males fixed her with looks, as she stuffed her hands in her pocket and leaned against the doorway to the bathroom near the phone and couch, tired of the silence and the annoying tug at her memory from watching the male. She tried not to show complete interest as she waited for an answer, not wanting them to see that she was just a bit curious.

The tall African American cleared his throat before answering. "Well, my partner, who couldn't be here with us, and I run a business that protects people," he cleared his throat again before continuing. "About three days ago we received an email from a man named John Hanson asking us to make contact with an Angie Sanders to inform her that his business has most likely put her, and you, in danger."

Robin raised a brow and shook her head. "His business? What kind of business would put me and mom in danger," her voice hardened and her eyes narrowed. "Furthermore, why should John Hanson, care about what happens to us? He hasn't come around here in thirteen years." Her hands dug deeper into her pockets and she scowled. Winston shifted in what looked like discomfort as his companion, who had yet to identify himself with a name, stood in the background looking at pictures of her that her mom had taken of the two of them over the years.

"And what's your play in this?" The shorter male stopped, and turned to her with a shrug. Robin tilted her head as he picked up a picture of her and her mother when she was six, staring at it, as Winston cut in. "This is _Guerrero_," the way he said the males name, the sour look on his face, made Robin think they weren't chummy. "He's an occasional hand in our business. He'll be subbing for my partner."

Robin raised a brow his way. The shorter male, Guerrero, was a bit strange and his constant quietness and poking around was a bit annoying. She watched him sit the picture of her and her mother down, before pulling out her gun. He looked it over and raised a brow. "You left the safety on," Robin's mouth dropped, as the gun was tossed back to her. She caught it clumsily and looked down at it. Sure enough the safety was still on.

Robin looked from the gun to Guerrero before sitting it on the table. She looked between the two males with a blank expression before sighing. "What _kind _of danger are me and my mother in?"

**R&R Plz**


End file.
